Ch.39: The Betrayal

I slid the button on the micro-camera hidden in the lace of my apron. It was a high-resolution lens I’d scavenged from the lab, its red recording light dampened by a thin layer of black electrical tape.

I stood in the corner of the dining room, pretending to adjust the sideboard, while Senator Sterling wiped his mouth with a silk napkin.

"The kidney function is already stabilizing," Sterling breathed, his voice gaining a terrifying resonance. "The President was right, Julian. This... pediatric synthesis. It’s the only way forward for the Republic. A stable, long-term donor pool is a national security priority."

"We’ve identified three more candidates in the state-run orphanages," Thorne lied, his synthetic jaw clicking as he spoke. "With the Senator’s oversight, we can secure them before the end of the quarter."

Every word was a nail in the coffin of my former life. I didn't just have medical malpractice on tape; I had treason. I had a conspiracy that reached the Oval Office.

I backed toward the shadows of the service hallway, my heart a frantic bird hitting the bars of my ribs. I needed to get this footage to the guest room, to the hidden compartment behind the dresser.

I stepped through the heavy oak doors, the silence of the corridor hit me like a physical weight.

"You’re a greedy little thing, aren't you?"

The voice didn't come from Thorne. It came from the top of the grand staircase. Mrs. Higgins stood there, her floral robe billowing in the draft from the foyer. She wasn't holding a tray or a duster. She was holding a heavy brass candlestick.

"Higgins," I rasped, my hand flying to my apron.

"I saw you, Elena. Or Mara. Or whatever lie you're telling today." She started down the stairs, her slippers scuffing on the carpet. "I saw you fiddling with that pin. You think you’re the only one who knows how to spot a bug?"

"I'm going to the police," I said, backing toward the service stairs. "He's killing children, Higgins. He’s selling them to the government."

"And I’m going to retire to a beach in Naples," she snapped, her eyes wide and bloodshot with greed. "Give me the camera. That footage is worth ten times what Thorne is paying me. If I have that, he never stops paying."

She lunged.

I turned and bolted for the service stairs, but she was faster than her bulk suggested. She grabbed the back of my dress, the fabric tearing with a sharp *skirr*. I stumbled, my knees hitting the hardwood.

"Give it to me!" she shrieked, her fingers clawing at my chest, digging into my skin as she reached for the hidden lens.

I fought back, my nursing instincts replaced by a mother's fury. I pushed her hands away, the micro-camera falling onto the landing. We scrambled for it, our bodies colliding on the narrow, steep wooden stairs.

Higgins grabbed my hair, pulling my head back until I saw stars. I reached out blindly, my hand closing around the brass candlestick she’d dropped.

I swung.

I didn't aim for her head; I just wanted her off me. The heavy brass hit her shoulder with a sickening *thud*. Higgins let out a sharp gasp, her weight shifting backward.

She reached for the railing, her fingers slipping on the polished mahogany. Her eyes met mine—not with greed, but with a sudden, freezing realization of gravity.

She tumbled.

One step. Two. Her body hit the landing with a wet, heavy sound, then continued down the flight like a discarded doll. Her neck snapped against the eleventh step with a crack that echoed through the entire glass fortress.

I stood at the top, the brass candlestick still clutched in my shaking hand.

Higgins falls down the stairs. Dead.